Ghost Gifts

by Laura Spinella

  “I’ll call you at nineteen hundred, as we arranged, son.”

  “Seriously?” his mother said, shaking her head. “Thank heaven your other son was spared.” She moved toward the door. Levi guessed Pa was supposed to follow. He did, but not without a warning glance at Brody—short code for the operational tactics he’d laid out at dawn: “Know where Levi is at all times . . . Do not be duped by that woman’s light-hearted manner . . . And never allow your brother near the pool without you . . .” For any other eighteen-year-old it might have been a big responsibility. But it was a small mission for the military-savvy, certified lifeguard Brody.

  After the initial settling in, Levi and his mother were off to a good start. Her casual lifestyle was a jolt to the system, but it wasn’t long before Levi’s bed went unmade and he rested his feet on the coffee table without a care. A week into the month-long visit, she’d taken him to every nearby tourist attraction. One trip included a movie studio, where Levi saw the sets to some of his favorite old westerns. There was something about the steadiness of John Wayne that he preferred over the brawny overkill of Arnold Schwarzenegger. Disneyland was a longer day, and Levi was unable to muster his mother’s enthusiasm for the crowded theme park. But it seemed like it would crush her if he was less than elated, so he smiled and went on every ride twice. In between her friends came to visit—lots of them, a revolving door of pretty people. The women tousled his hair, remarking, “My God, he’s going to be a heartbreaker! Say what you want about your ex, Jackie, but that Seven Brides for Seven Brothers brawny frame will suit your son. So, exactly how old is the brother?” His mother laughed with the women, and sometimes men, who asked, but she always answered, “Not old enough. Hands off!”

  Since Levi’s last visit, his mother had started acting in a soap opera, which accounted for most of the new company—although there were others, including members of a punk rock band. The lead singer was a rough-looking guy named Reese. He wore metal through so many pieces of flesh that Levi imagined unhooking them would cause the punk rocker to fall apart. But mostly Levi was mesmerized by his accent. It was British, but incredibly different from his father’s. It made him pay attention when Reese talked, which was a lot. Levi was also amazed by how many ways someone could use fuck in a sentence. Reese lived with one of the women when she wasn’t on the soap opera, which he liked to joke about. “Yeah, mate, she’s fucking the fucking bloke all day, then she’s got to come home and fucking fuck me!”

  Levi had little idea what a soap opera was, but he guessed it was something more than “a preposterous excuse for real employment,” which was the only description his father had provided. His mother seemed to feel differently, beaming over her new job. One afternoon she insisted Levi watch. “Here, baby, just see for yourself. It’s hard to explain. Kind of like a dramatic movie that never ends.” After that she disappeared into the kitchen to talk on the phone and sneak a cigarette. From the opening scene, Santa Barbara delivered the drama his mother promised. She—or “Brianne,” her name on the soap opera—was in the midst of a fierce argument with a guy who called her a slut. They lived in a fancy house, and apparently the two of them argued violently all the time. Then, right before a commercial break, “Brianne” downed two drinks. It made Levi wonder if it was the reason she’d gotten the part. But when Santa Barbara resumed, Jacqueline St John’s true talent became evident as “Brianne” shed more clothes than Levi imagined was possible on television. She proceeded to kiss a different guy, and the two of them got into bed. Levi watched the TV bug-eyed as his mother came back into the room. “Isn’t that neat, baby—seeing your mama in her first big part?” She didn’t seem bothered by the activity, her TV persona and the man rolling around in the bed, kissing and breathing heavy.

  Somewhere in between, Brody had also entered the room. His face looked as screwed up as Levi’s insides felt. “Uh, hey, J.C., I promised Levi serious pool time this afternoon. Now seems good.” He nudged Levi’s back until he stood. “Do you want to come with us?”

  “Oh sure . . . the pool.” She looked hurt that Brody hadn’t suggested a bowl of popcorn, while the three of them cozied up on the couch to watch the rest of Santa Barbara. “No, you boys head out. I have to learn my lines for tomorrow anyway.”

  “Yep, no problem,” Brody said, opening the slider. “Come on, kid. You can watch TV later.” Levi slipped under his brother’s arm, which was locked around the sliding glass door. He heard his voice make that angry sound. “Ten days left of fun in the sun. Better get yours while you can. Pa will be back before you know it.”

  As their return date to Connecticut drew nearer, Brody’s mood worsened. That’s what Levi was thinking as he cannonballed into the deep end of the pool and his brother plopped hard onto a lounge chair. He took off his watch, laying it on a side table. But Levi knew he’d be lucky if Brody spent ten minutes in the pool with him. Levi thought the trip would be a longer version of those rare instances when Pa went out of town. But things hadn’t gone that way. Except for the fights with Pa, Brody was even quieter than the weeks before they’d left for California. When they went places, like studio tours and amusement parks, Levi’s mother had to coax him into coming along. And in many instances he didn’t. The only time Brody seemed happy was when his mother’s friends came by. He liked Reese in particular, and all of them openly smoked the stuff that was clearly not wet saltwater swim trunks.

  Happy turned into something else entirely when Brody added cans of beer to the routine. He could down a whole six pack while smoking the tiny rolled up cigarettes that they passed from person to person. It was confusing. But it was also the only time Brody smiled or laughed, and Levi wasn’t sure how that was a bad thing. The herby scent made its way into Brody’s bedroom, which didn’t seem to faze his mother. Levi thought maybe it should. He almost said something after finding a snoring Brody and a bag of the stuff they used to make the little cigarettes. Beside his slumbering body was an open bottle of Johnnie Walker. But Levi chose to keep quiet. He didn’t want Brody or his mother to get into trouble. There was no gardener—no one except Levi who knew—and that meant his father would never find out.

  Levi figured it was a waiting game. In another week the visit would end. He and his brother would return to Connecticut and normalcy. Not long after that Brody would head off to West Point. His brother was blowing off steam; that was all. He guessed West Point would be a lot like Valley Forge Military Prep, maybe tougher. And Levi focused on that logical procession of events. He’d nearly convinced himself that the moment would pass as he headed up the stairs from the solarium. The afternoon sun was too hot and Levi retreated to his bedroom to finish the Jules Verne novel he’d started that morning. Levi got halfway down the upstairs hall and a mumble of conversation turned into clear dialogue. Brody was in his mother’s bedroom, the door half open. An uneasy feeling stopped Levi. Instead of going in, he slipped behind his own bedroom door and listened.

  “I feel for you, honey, I really do. Believe me. No one knows better than me how difficult your father can be.”

  “And still, you won’t talk to him.”

  “Oh, Brody, it’s not that simple. And talking to him isn’t what you’re asking me to do. Think about it. You want me, a woman Broderick St John all but loathes, to tell him that A, you’re not going to West Point—an event that’s been on his calendar since the day you were born. And, B, there’ll only be one son returning on the flight home with him. Sure. That’ll work.”

  Levi thought the remark was odd; the custody agreement was iron-clad. There wasn’t any way he wasn’t going back to Connecticut next week. Brody cleared up his misconception. “I need backup, J.C., and there’s nobody I can ask but you. I want to stay here! He’s going to flip about West Point—”

  “Brody, that’s crazy talk and you know it. He’ll kill us both! Correction. He’ll kill me and drag you straight to West Point.”

  “You don’t understand how serio
us I am about this. Whether you help or not, I’m not going to West Point! I hated the six goddamn years I spent at Valley Forge. I’ll hate that place even more. I talked to Reese. He said he’d give me a job as a roadie with his band.” This statement caused Levi to take a step back. Broderick St John’s son working in a punk rock band? You might as well announce you were defecting to the enemy.

  “I know it seems tempting, even glamorous—Reese talks a good game. I can see how it’s appealing, especially compared to a place like Valley Forge. But it’s not that simple. As much as I disagree with your father on just about everything, I can’t fight that battle for you. I just can’t.”

  “Why? Why won’t you help me?” Brody’s voice carried a pitch of desperation. “You hate him as much as I do! Shit, you probably hate him more.” Levi’s eyes widened. Disagreements, fine, but hearing Brody say he hated Pa made his insides clench. “How could you not? He took away your own damn kid!”

  “And that’s exactly why I can’t talk to him. Listen to me, honey. Broderick did his best to make sure I see as little of Levi as possible. That’s true. But we both know I gave him plenty of ammunition. And after last summer, you can bet I’m lucky that all I lost was Christmas. Imagine what your father will do if I put myself in between the two of you. Just think about it.”

  “What? What could he possibly do? You’re already divorced from him.” There was a growl from Brody, guttural and tense. “If I stay here, he’ll take it out on you. And if you try to help me, he’ll find some way to make sure you never see Levi again. Won’t he?”

  “I love that boy, Brody.” Levi heard his mother’s voice swell. “I may not win any prizes for mother of the year. Nobody’s ever going to cast me in that part. Given a choice between the two of us, Levi might be better off with Rick most of the year. But he is my son, and I can’t do anything to risk the time I do have with him. I certainly can’t do something that your father would see as a direct attack. Can you understand that?”

  There was quiet, then Brody’s voice. It sounded so lost. “I guess . . . Yes, I do. I just don’t know where that leaves me.”

  “You’ll figure it out, sweetie. You’re a smart kid. Maybe you’re making more out of it than need be. Think of all the months you’ll get to go without your father hovering—that’s something. And if it’s not what you want to do with your life, it’s not forever. You’re young. It’s not like he’s sending you off to prison.”

  “My life has been nothing but a fucking prison since the day I was born.”

  “Brody, come on, you’re starting to sound like a Santa Barbara storyline! Let’s just try to enjoy the rest of your vacation. What do you say? We’re having a get together later, some of the gang from work—even Reese. There’ll be plenty of party favors. At the very least, it will take your mind off things.”

  Brody laughed, which didn’t sound funny at all. “Right . . . sure. I ought to grab ahold of freedom while I can.” As Brody came out of his mother’s room, Levi ducked behind the door. Brody walked past and into his room, slamming the door shut.

  Levi peeked around the corner and inched into the hall. From the edge of her open bedroom door, he saw his mother sink onto the bed and reach for the drawer where she kept the magazines and cigarettes. She took out the whole carton. But instead of smoking one, she threw the carton to the far side of the room, packs of cigarettes spilling everywhere. “Broderick St John, you are a miserable son of a bitch. That poor kid,” she said, hands covering her face. Standing in the hall, Levi didn’t know what to do, which direction he should go.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Eventually, I chose to go into my mother’s room. What I didn’t know was that a few hours later that same decision would cost Brody his life.” Levi and Aubrey had forgone furniture, and instead had sunk onto the condo floor. As he sat in the narrow entryway, Levi touched the timepiece, the way a blind man might feel what he couldn’t see. Scooting forward a few inches, Aubrey also made contact with the watch. He didn’t pull away. Levi’s stillness said he was ready to listen.

  “We’re up to that night. I need . . .” Aubrey ruffled her fingers through her hair. Then she focused on the solid white tile floor. “Brody wants you to tell me all of it, everything, exactly the way you saw it.”

  “Brody wants . . . ?” She nodded; Levi half laughed, shaking his head. “I guess if nothing else we can label it shock therapy. I don’t know if I . . .” There was a look on Levi’s face, an expression completely removed from the man Aubrey knew. “I’ve never spoken about it.”

  She smiled. “Brody says it’s time . . . Time to stop, Levi . . .” Aubrey listened harder, repeating words that made no sense to her. “He says you’re not Mr. Z?”

  “Mr. Z.” He looked hard into Aubrey’s eyes. Again, she saw her reflection, maybe slightly less doubt. “Mr. Zablouski,” Levi said. “He was a science teacher at Valley Forge. Brody had him three years in a row. I was an inquisitive kid, maybe relentless. Brody used to tell me I was the only person who ever asked ‘why’ more than Mr. Zablouski.”

  “The early makings of a reporter. So report the rest, Levi. Tell Brody and me what happened that night—at least what you think happened.”

  His voice was reluctant, his hand raking over his pained face. “If I’d made a list of a million things I thought I’d do while I was here in Surrey . . .”

  “I know. This wouldn’t be a million and one.”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head at her. “It wouldn’t.” Levi took another deep breath. “It started out like every other night. Everyone was partying, the music was loud. It was a bigger crowd than usual. At some point, Brody came downstairs. He seemed different . . . settled, even calm. I was surprised. His conversation with my mother had upset me. Everything seemed better and I let it go. I had no answer, that’s for sure.”

  “You were eleven.”

  “Not having an answer wasn’t an excuse—Pa drilled that in from early on. But I didn’t say a word to Brody, nothing. I acted as if everything was fine. It was the same feeling of relief I had about Valley Forge—our family’s spin on don’t ask, don’t tell.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Pa shipped Brody off to military prep when he was nine. Here I was, eleven, and he’d never said a word to me about going. I never asked him why because I didn’t want to know. I just assumed Pa thought I couldn’t hack it. That’s what I thought until I was . . . I don’t know, sixteen or so.”

  “But that wasn’t the reason.”

  “I suppose Brody told you that?”

  “No. It’s my own opinion.”

  “Eventually, my mother explained that the stipulation was part of their divorce settlement. If she left, if she agreed to visitation only, my father agreed not to ship me off to military school and he had to stay stateside with me.”

  “Tough point to negotiate.”

  “He’s a stubborn, difficult man. She, on the other hand, makes decisions without considering the consequences.” Levi rose and Aubrey watched as he disappeared down the hall. She heard ice hit a glass. She followed, seeing Levi pouring scotch. “Yes . . . I’m stalling.”

  “Okay. Seems we have nothing but time since Delacort has us in a holding pattern.” Aubrey cocked her head; she listened. “Brody doesn’t agree. He’s done waiting. He . . . he says ‘Move, soldier.’”

  Levi turned, facing her. “That’s, uh . . .” He downed a mouthful of the drink and stared. “Move, soldier was household code for Get it done before Pa catches up with you.” He sat and put the drink on the coffee table, his hands running rough over his thighs. “The party went on late into the night. Brody hung out with Reese and my mother’s other friends—all kinds of drinking, smoking, and snorting. I must have fallen asleep on the sofa. It was about three in the morning, maybe a little after. Normally, Brody would have made sure I went up to my room, but he didn’t that night. It’s a twisted ir
ony.”

  “Because?”

  “Because if I’d been upstairs, I would have had a better chance of saving them. They were too out of it to hear the smoke alarm, but I would have heard it. Those few extra seconds, going from the sofa to the stairs, who knows? As it is, my choice, it’s a huge part of what I’ve never been able to get past.”

  “Go on,” she said, not particularly sympathetic to Levi’s perception of happenstance.

  “Like I said, the smoke alarm woke me up. I was confused, everything was hazy. Then I realized the haze was really smoke. I started calling for my mother and for Brody. Nobody answered. I went toward the stairs, and the smoke got thicker. I didn’t think,” Levi said, standing. He picked up his drink and paced the room. “I just ran up the stairs. Then . . . then I had to pick a direction. The smoke was coming from my mother’s bedroom. There were these little stadium lights here and there, they were still working. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled into her bedroom, screaming for Brody. I . . . I was amazed he didn’t hear me. She was out cold on the bed. The far side of the room was burning, the curtains, the furniture.”

  “The direction she’d thrown the carton of cigarettes.”

  “Exactly. My mother later said there was a bottle of nail polish remover on the vanity, lots of tissues. She might have lit some candles while she was getting ready that night—she couldn’t remember. Over the years, she’s reiterated the accident scenario. Insisted it wasn’t the result of drugs or alcohol—not directly.

  “She wouldn’t wake up. I pulled her by an arm and started dragging her. By then I was glad for that foot I’d grown. I dragged her right down the steps. It was just minutes . . . it couldn’t have taken more than two minutes. I flung open the front door and hauled her out onto the lawn. Right about then the glass from her bedroom window burst. Flames started shooting out of the house. It . . . it looked like a movie set. She coughed. I could see she was breathing. I ran back inside, back up the stairs. I was near the top. The stadium lights had gone out. It was pitch black. God, the heat coming from my mother’s room . . . It was hot, so incredibly hot. But Brody’s room was in the opposite direction. There was still time. I fell twice. It was so dark and smoky, I was disoriented. The second time it felt like someone pushed me and I slid right to the bottom of the stairs—I remember repeating that to the police, like it was my excuse for not saving him. But I also got back up. I wasn’t leaving that house without Brody.”